The Third Accident

Nonfiction by Robert McEvily



I’m parked – literally parked - on Interstate 80 West. The eighteen-wheeler in front of me has an Oklahoma license plate. I tell myself that Oklahoma City is the capital of Oklahoma. I remember reading a self help book, remember a chapter on the constructive use of time, times when you’re trapped, stuck in an elevator, trapped in traffic, waiting in line, all the rest. I start thinking of states and their capitals.

I’m on my way to a campground near Penn State University. Today is Thursday, September 29th, 2005. I’m with my girlfriend. The campground’s near Black Moshannon State Park. We’ve never been there before. On Saturday, Penn State plays Minnesota. Both teams are 4-0.

I don’t know why we’re stopped. We’ve passed two accidents already; I’m assuming it’s a third. The first accident looked like an eighteen-wheeler ran off the road. Maybe the driver fell asleep. The second accident involved a minivan. It was badly smashed, overturned. It looked fatal.

A fat, bearded man in a John Deere cap and a "Bush Cheney 2004" t-shirt exits a blue Pontiac Bonneville, Ohio plates, from the passenger side and slowly waddles to the guard rail and climbs over and urinates into shrubbery. I tell myself that Columbus is the capital of Ohio. The fat man finishes peeing and lights a cigar.

My girlfriend rolls down her window. She asks, "Can you see up the road?"

"Some guy’s saying two hours, some guy on the radio, but I don’t know how he knows that."

They speak a bit more. A man with a dog approaches from behind and asks the same thing. "Any idea what’s happening?"

I tune out and grab my pad. I start writing my account of what’s happening. I write, "I’m parked – literally parked - on Interstate 80 West." I keep going. My girlfriend gets back to reading her book. Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn. I keep writing, and I’m proud of myself. I’m finally prepared. I’m controlling my time. I’m being productive. I’m not "sweating the small stuff." Those friggin’ books are paying off.

The fat guy sneaks looks at my girlfriend.

"He’s creepy," she says.

"Bush Cheney 2004," I say. My girlfriend laughs.

Later, finally, things start to move. Everyone’s doing twenty, then forty, then the speed limit and over. I keep waiting to pass an accident, but we don’t. The third accident doesn’t exist. "What the hell caused that?" I say. My girlfriend just shakes her head, continues reading.

I know it’s not much of a mystery, but it bothers me. It bothers me we were parked on a highway with no explanation. It bothers me to think, if a sign said, "DRIVE THIS WAY," I’d drive that way and not ask why. Where the hell would I be heading? Who am I trusting?

My girlfriend glances up from her book. She says, "We’re almost there." I smile, take a deep breath.